The Midwife's Daughter Chapter 2

Ulrich poked his nose out from under the heavy blankets and animal skins piled on top of him.  It was cold out there and he quickly retreated under his warm covers, but he knew he would have to venture out.  The place would only get warmer after he had lit the fires.  He heard the door to his room open.  That was unusual, his mother never got up until he had the home warm and her breakfast ready.  He poked his head out and saw her approach his bed.  She was fully dressed and had a fur pulled around her shoulders.  Her breath formed faint clouds in front of her as she spoke.

‘Quickly get up, the other room is warmer,’ she said and held up some of his clothes for him.  ‘I have warmed these for you.’

Quickly Ulrich threw off the rugs and jumped up.  As he stood, he started to lift his woollen nightshirt over his head.

‘Modesty,’ his mother reminded him and turned around.

Naked, he reached for the clothes that she held out for him.

‘You are a man now,’ she said.

Despite the anticipation of the last few weeks, Ulrich had forgotten it was his birthday.  He was sixteen.  He realised that was why his mother was up before him.

He pulled up his trousers then donned a woollen shirt and jerkin.

‘Ready,’ he said.

His mother turned to face him, her grey-green eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled.  She wore her long dark brown hair loose about her shoulders; he thought she was at her most beautiful when it was like that.  She stepped up to him, their eyes level, and put her arms around him.  Ulrich always wondered why mothers insisted upon running their hands over their children, checking that everything was present.  He would tell her if something was amiss and besides he was no longer a child.

She ran her hands down his arms, stroking his bulging biceps, then across to chest.  She smiled at him.

‘You make a good man,’ she said with a smile.

‘Thank you mother,’ Ulrich replied.

She led him into their little home’s main room that also served as the kitchen.  The fire already alight and the table set with a cut loaf and a flagon of a hot herbal brew.  Ulrich walked over to the table and looked down at the breakfast that his mother had prepared.  Propped up against the flagon was a sealed parchment.  Ulrich picked it up and walked over to the fire.  He leant over so that the light from the flames illuminated the writing.  It was addressed to him.

He turned it over and looked at the seal.  It was the king’s.  Ulrich looked up at his mother, who nodded excitedly at him.

‘Go on open it,’ she urged him.

He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.  On it in a flamboyant cleric’s script was a king’s edict.  He read it carefully and his heart sank.

‘It is from the king himself,’ his mother said.

‘But it is exempting me from serving in the army,’ Ulrich moaned.

‘Yes, you can stay here and continue to run the smithy.’

Ulrich returned to the table and threw the edict down onto the table.

‘With your father away supplying the army, you are the only smith between here and Ricksham, you are needed,’ his mother added.

‘But I want to fight the Lahblanders, the way things are going, we will defeat them this year and I will not have seen any fighting,’ Ulrich complained as he sat down to his breakfast.  ‘The men coming back from the war will be looked up to.’

‘They will have no skills to earn a living with.’

Ulrich tore a lump of his bread and dunked it into his brew.

‘But girls don’t think about such things.  They want a dashing hero like Uncle Dafied.’

Ulrich’s mother moved over and stood beside him.  She stroked his hair as she held his head against her stomach.

‘Oh Ulrich, you are so young,’ she said, ‘and you have plenty of time yet.  Besides once a girl is wrapped in those strong arms and looks up into your deep velvety brown eyes, her heart will melt.’

Bruna’s words did not console Ulrich; how was he to get close enough to a girl to put his arms around her if he had no tales of daring with which to woo her.  If he were more like his Uncle Dafied, it would be so much easier

***

Dafied stood with rain streaming down his face, drenching his beard.  What a miserable day to die, he thought.  The whistle of another boulder flying harmlessly overhead did not worry him.  How many times had the Lahblanders fired their trebuchet, was it eight or ten, and still they had yet to hit something.  It demonstrated just how unprepared the enemy was.  They had only managed to erect one of these inaccurate weapons.  The sodden ground did not help them either; the projectiles buried themselves into the soft earth instead of bouncing and wreaking havoc amongst the massed ranks of Dafied’s fellow countrymen.

Looking around the battlefield, he was amazed at the Lahblanders lack of success; it would be easier to hit one of the Runedorian formations than the thin strips of ground between them.  Was it possible that there were over half a million men on the field?  The rumours were to that effect, but this damn rain made it impossible to see clearly.

At last, the sound of battle reached his ears as two regiments of heavily armoured foot soldiers ploughed into the enemy ranks.  The dulled sound of steel against steel and yells of defiance mingled with screams of pain.

The rainsquall passed and Dafied got a clearer view of the battle.  It was going to be a long, hard slog.  Neither side had advantage of terrain, each occupying opposite slopes of a valley.  The enemy had numerical superiority, by nearly two to one, but they were mostly undisciplined peasants shoddily armed, whereas the Runedorians were organised, highly trained and well equipped.

Dafied sensed his men’s impatience, his sergeants, Alwin and the dwarf Werner, crouched, unable to sit because of the sodden ground and too lazy to stand.  They looked to him for leadership, and he felt their gazes.  His company was in a privileged position; they could skirmish at will between the ranks of massed regiments and choose their own targets.  They wanted him to find a target now and lead them into battle.  However, the enemy formations were so closely packed that meaningful opportunities were scarce.

Dafied saw a possibility developing ahead, the fighting regiments were bunching up and the ranks behind were moving around to match.  A gap between the Lahblanders' main force and their reserves protecting their flank was opening up.  Dafied had an idea.  Werner would think it brave, daring and glorious; Alwin would think it, vain, idiotic and suicidal.  He commanded his men to wait for him whilst he ran back to the king’s command position.

When the war broke out, he had been too busy helping his wealthy but untitled father with the family estate to volunteer.  The war had gone badly for the Runedorians during the first two fighting seasons, good leadership and training was let down by poor quality weapons and armour.  Then he was conscripted, and instead of taking the weapons and armour issued to him, he bought from his brother-in-law Norbert.  Although the family was distressed to see him go to war, they knew that he lacked ability to manage land or livestock, and they thought a period of military service might strengthen his character.

He was terrified at the thought of fighting and worked hard at his training to ensure he acquired the necessary skills.  He left his first battle alive and unharmed, but shocked to find that he had found a profession he excelled at, soldiering.

Dafied arrived at the command position and knelt down in front of King Hobart.  The air between them shimmered and sparkled with the effects of the sphere of protection being cast by the king’s sorcerer.  The man stood behind the king, and swayed and sweated from the strain of maintaining the sphere.

Prince Roderick, Dafied’s commander, leant across to his father and spoke in hushed tones.  Dafied hoped the prince was speaking highly of him.

‘Speak,’ the king said, but hardly glanced at him.

‘Sire, may I suggest,’ Dafied began, ‘that if you were to commit the reserves you have stationed beside my men, on our left flank, and have them attack the enemy reserves on their right flank, it will cause a gap in their forces through which I can lead my skirmishers.’

‘It would leave me without reserves, soldier,’ the king replied.

‘You could withdraw them when we are through, sire.’ 

The king thought for a while, stroking his silver goatee.  Prince Roderick looked down at Dafied then leant across to the king and whispered into his ear again.

‘Very well, when I think it opportune I shall send an order commanding captain of the reserves to advance his men.  Go and prepare your men.  I expect you to move forward when you see fit.’

Dafied hurried back towards his troop happy that at last they had something to do, but nervous at the thought of tempting fate in close combat again.  His commanders had been impressed with his fighting skills during his first battles and soon he found himself transferred to more elite regiments until he became a sergeant under the prince, who had recommended that he be given his own troop of skirmishers at the close of the previous season.

It was also noted how durable his kit was and he told his comrades about his brother-in-law, Norbert of Twofords, and soon his sister’s husband was making a lot of money supplying arms and armour to soldiers dissatisfied with the kit they were issued.  However, only a few could afford to buy their own arms.  The king’s generals became aware of the situation and asked the king to commission Norbert to train a regiment of blacksmiths.  Norbert, ever the good businessman and not frightened to press a hard bargain with the king, struck a very lucrative arrangement.  By the start of the fourth fighting season, the army had been re-equipped and the tide turned; the fifth almost saw victory.

Dafied slid to a halt beside Alwin and Werner; they looked up expectantly.

‘I’ve got a plan,’ Dafied declared.

‘I was afraid of that,’ Alwin replied.

The ironic thing about the war was their king had told them the Lahbland Queen had the gift.  She was born with magical powers, yet she ruled a country banning its use, and the Runedorians had a king who wanted the powers but did not have the capability.  King Hobart had portrayed the enemy queen as an evil witch and had promised a huge reward in gold for the man that took her alive; a more modest amount would be awarded for her corpse.

Dafied began to think that the king was not going to commit his reserves when the sudden movement of the troops to his left surprised him.  The reserves marched down the valley side and engaged the enemy; more shouts and screams.  A thunderous crack announced the demise of the trebuchet; the ineffectual and poorly built weapon broke apart under the strain of use.  Its collapse was more of an advantage to the Lahblanders than a disaster, as the troops manning it could now be redeployed to close quarter fighting, where they might actually kill someone.

The landscape beyond the enemy started to disappear, hidden by another heavy rainsquall.

‘Get ready, lads,’ Dafied commanded his troops.

Werner stood up and sloped his battleaxe over his shoulder.  He was a dwarf whose family had settled in Runedor four generations ago, but he was the first of his race to take up arms for the king.  Like Dafied, he had found soldiering a profession he was not only good at, but he enjoyed it too.  His friend, Alwin was a total contrast, tall wiry and cerebral, he rarely spoke and when he did, he was quiet and normally profound.  The three of them checked that their respective sections were up and ready.

Dafied waited until the enemy was completely enveloped by the squall before giving the order to advance.  They moved between the regiments quickly, reaching the valley floor in minutes.  They passed between fighting soldiers unnoticed, and started to climb the enemy slope.  They received jeers and insults from the ranks of enemy infantry waiting to join the fray.  At first, Dafied assumed the calls were typical taunts of an enemy, but puzzled as to why no one was actually challenging them.  He realised that in their dirty nondescript armour, his men were being taken for deserters.  They started shouting back, claiming that the front was being overwhelmed and that the enemy cavalry was about to charge.  Soon genuine deserters were running alongside them up the hill.

They looked round for targets of opportunity, messengers or commanders.  Onward they pressed up the hill with the growing band of deserters surrounding them, further camouflaging their dash.  Some deserters ahead of them stopped.  Looking up the hill, through the thinning squall, Dafied saw a line of enemy provosts with weapons drawn, ready to turn cowards back into the fight.  Their look of fierce determination evaporated when they saw his band of heavily armed, professional fighters erupt from the ranks of faltering deserters.  Dafied’s men were upon them in seconds and quickly hacked them to pieces.

The rain had almost lifted and Dafied was pleasantly surprised at the progress his men had made.  He looked back down the valley side towards the main battle far below.  He turned and found his troop faced a band of armoured knights, but their appearance, gave Dafied no cause for concern.  Their youthful looks and finely polished breastplates convinced him they were no more than the sons of Lahbland's gentry and therefore easy meat for his battle-hardened troop.

With a roar, he led his screaming men into the enemy formation.  Dafied’s first opponent screamed defiantly back.  It was a woman’s scream.  Blanchers; the Lahbland queen's personal bodyguard.  This would be no easy walkover, these famous female fighters were renowned for their prowess.  Dafied checked his surprise in time to meet the woman’s thrust.  He hacked down, amputating her sword arm.  Blood sprayed out but in a blind rage, she drew a dagger with her remaining hand and charged at Dafied again.  However, his sword slicing through her stomach stopped her.

A male bodyguard stepped forward to take the blancher’s place, but Dafied lifted his sword, brought it down cutting through the man’s shoulder, and through his chest until the sword’s momentum ran out when it hit the spine just below the ribcage.  Fatally wounded the man remained standing and Dafied kicked him in the stomach to free his sword.

This was not the sword that he had bought from Norbert, his brother-in-law, but a longsword presented to him by Norbert’s only child and apprentice, Ulrich.  It was the best weapon Dafied had ever held; it was perfectly balanced and sliced through flesh and bone with ease.  Its fine steel kept its edge and only rarely needed sharpening.

Another blancher came at him; he swung his sword up and brought it down again, but found his blow blocked.  Lifting the sword, he was forced to parry the girl warrior’s lunge.  He twisted to one side as he felt her lift her knee between his legs.  His thigh deflected the attack and compromised her balance.  Releasing his right grip, he brought his arm back and smashed his gauntlet into her unprotected face.  He reached down and gripping the bottom of her breastplate, he lifted her off her feet.  She toppled back onto the ground.  Casually Dafied swung the tip of his sword across her neck and cutting her windpipe.  Experience told him his sloppy move would still be fatal to his victim, but he looked down at the girl, and considered ending her torment swiftly, but she grabbed his leg with one hand and reached for another weapon with the other.  He had heard that blanchers never surrendered, they fought to the death, as he was experiencing now.  He swung round and slashed down cutting through her metal armour and splitting open her torso.

Amazed at the success of his charge and the surprise he had won over the enemy, Dafied paused to check his troop.  They had kept together well.  Only the professional bodyguards offered resistance.  The ranks of conscripted soldiers faced down the valley watching the battle below, probably more concerned with their own survival than the activities of their overlords behind them.

Dafied realised that if he was attacking blanchers then the enemy queen must surely be nearby.  He glanced around and saw her only yards away, wearing a gown that appeared to be woven from pure silver.  He could hear her shouting at her attackers, as he turned towards an attack from another bodyguard rushing towards him.

‘What have you achieved,’ the queen was shouting.  There was anger in her voice.  ‘This war was not necessary.  Magic is not the answer.  You could have killed the Dragon with your army, costing fewer sons than this war has.’

Dafied pressed his attack against the bodyguard, trying not to be distracted by the queen’s taunts.

‘All you had to do was train your daughters in the art of the smithy,’ the queen continued.

Dafied had to concentrate; the last statement piqued his interest.

‘A sword forged by the hand of a maiden will always cut through magical armour such as dragon scales.’

Dafied put all his effort into his final swing and changed the angle just as he began it.  His opponent was not prepared for this and left his head exposed.  Dafied’s lack of concentration caused him to miss the man’s neck but his sword sliced through the man’s skull, leaving him just as dead.

Turning from the man’s body, he saw he was through the circle of bodyguards and blanchers, ahead of him was the queen’s shield bearer carrying a large grey lozenge high, shielding his monarch from attack.  Dafied brought his sword down on the shield.  His blade bit into it and cut down its length.  A strange humming vibration travelled up the sword and into Dafied’s hand as he sliced through the grey material.  A spray of blood told him that he had cut through the bearer’s arm and the shield fell away.  He pushed the screaming boy out of the way and came face to face with the enemy queen.

Despite her age, she was still a beautiful woman, her silver hair tied back from her face.  Her clear skin was only gently lined.  Her grey eyes looked at Dafied defiantly.  He walked over to her, but she held her head high.  She was unarmed.

‘Surrender,’ Dafied demanded.

Alwin stepped up and behind the queen and grabbed her roughly by the arms.

The queen looked at Dafied, her eyes widening.  She shouted at him, ‘I can see your future; your cowardice will have a high price.’

‘I have just fought through your miserable army; so don’t call me a coward,’ Dafied shouted as he took a step closer and raised his sword higher.

Werner approached the little group triumphantly swinging his axe about his shoulders.  Glancing around, he said, ‘Looks like we got rid of her protection.  I can feel my purse getting heavier already.’

‘Fear has many forms,’ she hissed, ‘and I know whom you fear the most.  You will have no daughters for the Dragon to feed upon.’  She looked at Dafied closely, almost peering into his soul.  ‘You have a niece,’ she added, ‘she shall face the wrath of the Dragon.’

Werner took a step back.  ‘Watch it, she’s going to put a curse on you,’ he said.

Dafied glanced down at his sergeant then back at the queen unsure as to whether she was bluffing.

‘That is right,’ The queen added, ‘be afraid.  I know where she is hidden.’

‘Stop her,’ Werner shouted.

Alwin released his captive and backed away, and for the first time Dafied saw fear on his tall comrade’s face.  The horror that the king was right dawned upon Dafied.  The enemy queen possessed the gift and despite her own laws, used it.  She had seen his sister’s secret inside his mind.  He had to stop her from revealing it.

Dafied slashed down then across.  The queen instinctively brought her hands up to her head, but was too late.  The fighting in the immediate area stopped at the gruesome sight of the queen lifting her own head off her shoulders.  Dafied stepped back in horror, as he looked up at the queen’s severed head staring down at him accusingly.  The corpse collapsed and the head rolled down and came to rest at Dafied’s feet, the eyes still open.

The few remaining bodyguards started to melt away and left Dafied with his men to occupy the hilltop.  Alwin found an abandoned pike, picked it up and Werner rammed the queen’s head onto the end of it.  Alwin then lifted the pike into the air and waved it about like a banner.  Over the sound of battle, the roar of their cheering comrades could be heard.

‘We may have killed their queen,’ Werner said, ‘but we still have to fight our way back to our own lines.’

‘Just form a tight circle and hold tight, rescue is on its way,’ Dafied tried to reassure his men.  He had a clear view of the battlefield since the rain had stopped.  The enemy army was showing signs of faltering, its command structure collapsing, but these were men defending their own soil.

‘What the Gods!’ Alwin exclaimed.

‘What’s wrong?’ Werner asked, his short stature denying him a view of the battle below.

‘The king’s retreating, but we’ve won,’ Alwin replied.

Dafied looked to the valley floor and saw his army moving back up the opposite slope.

‘No they’re not,’ Dafied observed, ‘He’s just breaking off to give them a chance to surrender.’  He noticed rapid movement to the right of the enemy flank.  ‘Prince Roderick’s bringing his cavalry to help us.’

***

It was nightfall before the king and his generals were satisfied that the enemy was indeed going home.  There had been no formal surrender, just a long pause with the two armies standing facing each other, and then one-by-one, the enemy troops started to drop their weapons and walk away.  Soon there was a flood of men leaving the battlefield.

Shortly before dusk Dafied and his men were allowed to leave the field and they returned to the farm where they had encamped the night before.  Jubilant but exhausted, Dafied and his men entered the muddy farmyard.  A huge bear of a man, at least six-foot tall, with black hair and a thick shaggy beard, greeted Dafied.  The man slapped him heartily on the back several times before pulling him into a crushing bear hug.

‘Norbert,’ Dafied grunted, ‘let go of me, I can barely breath.’

‘Congratulations,’ Norbert barked as he let Dafied go, ‘I heard you killed the witch, you’ve turned out to be some fighter, Bruna will be so proud of you.’

‘He could have taken her alive,’ Alwin interrupted, ‘and she’d have been very proud of a very rich man.’

‘She was an evil witch and was going to curse the family,’ Dafied said defensively.

‘Oh yes, I heard her,’ Alwin said, his voice laden with irony, and Dafied looked at him sharply, ‘you shall have no daughters.  Who wants daughters and the expense of dowries?  No, get yourself a brace of strapping lads and as for your niece being sacrificed to the Dragon, have her sent over the Thoresen Mountains now that the way to them is open.  Once on the other side the Selector cannot touch her or her dowry.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about there, he hasn’t got a niece,’ Norbert laughed.

‘Not yet I haven’t,’ Dafied said, trying to kill the topic.

‘You don’t think Bruna and I will have another child; your other sister and her husband aren’t likely to have more,’ Norbert said, his hope clearly audible.  ‘A sister for Ulrich; that would be nice.’

Dafied looked at his brother-in-law, and felt pity for him.

‘Yeah you could teach her the arts of a blacksmith,’ Alwin said.  ‘The queen also told us that a sword made by the hand of a virgin, would slay the Dragon.’

‘Is this true?’ Norbert asked Dafied.

‘It was probably just the ranting of a mad woman,’ Dafied replied, trying to play down the recent events.

‘But still, how much do you think the king would pay the man who got rid of the Dragon,’ Norbert suggested.

‘He already owes you a king’s ransom,’ Dafied said, ‘I don’t think he would take too kindly to you knocking on his door with the Dragon’s head under your arm, demanding more money.’

‘Where are the enchanted weapons that the Lahblanders seized before the war?’ Alwin asked.

The little group stopped talking as they remembered the cause of the war.  The Lahbland queen had denied King Hobart passage for magical weapons across her kingdom.  The king had acquired some anyway and had attempted to smuggle them through Lahbland.  The weapons were discovered by a Lahblander patrol.  The king then sent a small force to recover them, but they were defeated.  The incidents grew until the king declared war.

‘I think the queen will have got rid of them,’ Dafied said.

‘She may not have,’ Alwin replied.

‘If we all keep this a secret,’ Norbert suggested, ‘I could train a girl to make a sword.  If the king cannot find the missing weapons, we present him with one, in return for a fee of course.’

‘You worried me for a while,’ Alwin said, ‘I thought you were going to suggest we use it ourselves.’

‘What,’ Norbert laughed, ‘the queen might have been mistaken.’

The group laughed aloud, and moved off towards the barn where they were quartered.  Dafied, felt relieved that his men would be more concerned about going home than thinking about what the queen had said.  Inside he saw that one of his men had deposited the queen’s shield with his belongings.  He had claimed it as part of his spoils of war.  He laid his sword beside the shield, and sat on the pallet that served as his bed.  He looked at the sword and shield wondering what he should do next, and what would his sister think.